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The Weaver

by Laurie Duncan

When first my heart murmured in infant rest,
a sigh then broke the toddling beats and veins;
and vessels blue did rush in gasps to tie anew
the reins, my breast, of soft, untried sinew.

Well, Clotho knew that she knit me undone:
one thread slipped out; it fell unseen and snagged.
Slender, long, she wrought it strong; the knot
IÂ’d dragged unspun for years, until it caught

some place or edge. A face. A name. It skips
sometimes, a stone that dips in cresting waves
of pain, but cannot fly off free or sink in peace away.
I trip, a slave in chains; the pull begins to fray

my strength. I pray to know IÂ’ll find the end
and bind a better heart, escape your maze.
Yet without the nerve myself to swing the sword,
I’ll mend my days ‘til fate cuts the cord.

11/03/2008

Posted on 11/04/2008
Copyright © 2024 Laurie Duncan

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Tony Whitaker on 11/04/08 at 04:17 AM

Clotho would be proud of this look ad your life is spun by the Gods, finally cut free. I love the last line, "I’ll mend my days ‘til that hag just cuts the cord".

Posted by Joe Cramer on 11/04/08 at 07:09 PM

... this is exceptional!!!

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